Ashes Ashes
by Archimedes
Summary: Ultimecia is dead. A religious revolution is at hand. A war has begun. This is the complete story of The Six.
1. Default Chapter

Legend:  
  
/ = italics  
  
* * * = end of a section  
  
Everything else is as is.  
  
Final Fantasy 8:  
  
1 Ashes, Ashes…  
  
Prologue  
  
Part 1  
  
/I can feel hate all around me. I can feel disgust. I can feel anger and I can feel despair. I will watch as our lives are torn apart. And I will feel the pain of the destruction I have caused. I will burn for it. And in that sorrow, I will finally be happy. For I will have atoned for the sins and lives lost of my friends. The wheels of fate will turn one last time and rest upon my name. My death will end their suffering. I will be the last note on our long song to Armageddon. My name is Squall Leonhart./  
  
Six warriors stand on the verge of destruction. Inside a forgotten castle of a long lost ruler; they are beyond time, life, and everything of meaning for their past. Before them lies the dying, crippled form of a great sorceress, Ultimecia, possibly one of the greatest. She single-handedly conquered the human species and time itself in one full swoop. And these six young people rose together to fight a godly sorceress who wished to destroy humanity, not for fame or fortune, not for themselves, but because somewhere within themselves, they knew they had to. The fighting had ended after their journey and setting forth an era of peace across the planet, an end to their struggle. Wars, conflict, hate itself became pointless because of what they had discovered and accomplished at the same time.  
  
These six young peoples' lives had been recorded in every history book across the planet. Despite being only in their late teens and early twenties, the valuable training they had received at Balamb Garden had propelled them to victory. Their training with Guardian Forces was almost unique to them alone, and for that they were much feared. Not any kind of person could wield a giant beast of destruction as just another weapon. They had been analyzed as both saints and heroes, and also as the beginnings of a prophecy of dark times, but they were not destined to this position. They were not military leaders or politicians, they were joe schmoes, mercenaries that had accomplished the impossible and were rewarded for it.  
  
Millions upon millions of Gil to be exact.  
  
The symbol of everything they had done was marked on each of their own battle-hardened faces and on the influence they had on the rest of the known world. And yet, as if the world was cruelly turned against them, no one would be able to ever understand them, their endeavor, or what they ever really stood for from that point on. Their lives were irreversibly altered, for when one fights evil, he sees the evil in himself. Their eyes, so warm and fragile, now had a misty and vacant look to them. The evils of the world were evident wherever they turned, even in themselves.  
  
The returning warriors found it hard to embrace the peace they had set into motion, hard to believe how the world would twist and turn into what they had seen so clearly during their encounter. They craved happiness but only found a dull sting where they searched. They grew apart from each other. And slowly the peace began to shatter, into millions of pieces, until there was nothing left but chaos.  
  
* * * 


	2. Prologue Part 2

Part 2  
  
/The only thing left was the blood, seeping across marble tiles. The terrible blood./  
  
Quistis pulled on her old SeeD outfit quickly over her sleeping garb. When out in the field, certain luxuries such as having time to shower were non- existent. And being in the middle of an emptied-out town, completely shattered and dead, luxuries were forgotten easily.  
  
She stared out of the abandoned apartment building into a gray landscape. The once-prominent city now looked fittingly like a war zone. Shattered buildings stretched into the dark forest, hardly lit by dawn. The sky was orange with the rising sun, but the sun itself was not visible, leaving a perceptible glow on the landscape.  
  
The windows were gone from nearly all of the buildings, with no inhabitants in sight either, leaving a very hollow look upon the foreboding vista. She had heard a term coined by one of her comrades to describe this all-too- familiar scene: the walls of the eyeless. The building looked like faces, tortured, and frightening without their small transparent panes, and so the term fit well with both description and atmosphere created by these empty totems of war.  
  
She pulled on her top and picked up her whip. She contemplated the lack of sun, searching for some sort of meaning or prophecy in it until interrupted by a voice from behind.  
  
"Major, we need to go quickly. He'll be here soon," piped the tiny private.  
  
"Yes, I know that," she muttered, making a few last adjustments to her dress.  
  
She walked out of the room into the grim-looking lobby of the building. SeeD troops in full body armor surrounded her with a ring of respect as always, a ring not only given to a superior, but to a hero as well. She looked around at them with an approving glance and then walked up to the large wooden doors with the troops parting like a wave in the ocean around her. She knocked on the doors lightly, judging how long they would hold up under the incoming assault, and began to pace, formulating thoughts as she walked back and forth. She knew the task ahead of her was not meant to be an easy one.  
  
"What's the ETA on the drop ship?" she asked, tightening her gloves reflexively.  
  
"Three minutes, Captain," barked another private.  
  
She cursed quietly and walked back from the doors towards a window. The dawn looked down on her, weakly covering the bleak land, and changing the unsettling early-morning fog into a haze. She opened a small pouch on her side and pulled out a pair of digital binoculars. She peered through them, angry at her evident mistakes on the mission. She would get her men killed because of how deep she had brought them in, even if it had been necessary.  
  
She scanned the horizon for one of two things: the silver and blue angel of a drop ship, or the red gold locust of enemy scouts. She cursed again, seeing the second of her two choices. Luck never seemed to turn in their favor. This would be one of the longer mornings, she thought, judging by the number of scouts she saw. The miniature Ragnaroks buzzed on the horizon, tempting her to open fire and give away her position.  
  
She walked back into the room and faced her troops.  
  
"Since this may be the last thing you hear, I'll make it simple. We are outnumbered and outgunned. We have information vital to the rebellion. If we can survive and get it back home, we may stand a fighting chance against the Emperor. I'm asking you to do something that no one should ask you: I want to you to die for this small disk." She patted her side for emphasis. "This is a sacrifice that no one should ever ask you to make, regardless of how important the information is. But I have to, not for me, not for the rebellion, but for yourselves, and your family.  
  
"Will you fight with me?"  
  
And with that the men cheered their saying: "For the Resistance!" Her speech was in many ways almost useless. Regardless of what she said, she knew they would die for her without question. The level of trust and responsibility gave them the will to do this. Not because they had to do it but because they trusted her. If she asked them to die for a disk or a rock, it didn't make a difference. They would do it because they believed in her, and the Resistance.  
  
Slowly they gathered into a defensive formation, preparing by the windows that covered the room. They knew exactly what to do, and how to do it, but Quistis knew that might still be not enough. They put on their headsets. The small visors covered their faces, giving them an almost alien quality. The four red beads on the front of the visors came to life, moving almost organically in unison, sliding back and forth, acting and reacting with one another.  
  
Their guns were drawn, their fingers on the triggers. They lined up their sights on the multiple flying craft that were approaching. The four red beads across their faces moved and blinked as they zoomed in on the approaching targets, focusing, tracking, projecting the death that was flying towards them. Even with tactical surprise, they were cutting it close, she thought.  
  
"ETA on the drop ship?" she asked again.  
  
"One minute, Captain," came the reply, just as she had expected.  
  
We're cutting it damn close, she thought.  
  
"Very well … Fire!" she ordered.  
  
A barrage of blue pulse fire streamed out of the building and struck the search craft. They were the less dangerous search part of search and destroy. Each of them exploded in a giant fireball which, was truly spectacular because of the bombs and missiles they were carrying. She watched as the mid-air shockwave of detonated pulse charges rippled overhead. She had always found it strange the way pulse charges had a shockwave of intense, unnatural heat.  
  
She turned her attention to the surrounding forest, once again scanning out of habit. Her demeanor was slightly calmed upon seeing no movement. She picked up the binoculars for a closer look, unable to let her mind rest at the possibility of an absence of ground assault. The forest calmly swayed in the wind. Nothing amiss there, and where she saw nothing, there was hope. And then came one shadow, roughly the size of a person. Was her mind playing tricks on her? It made a signal that looked like a wave towards the forest. Then two shadows appeared, and then two hundred.  
  
"Blast the forest perimeter!" she ordered.  
  
Once again a heavy rain of pulse charges sterilized its target, lighting the still twilight sky. The transparent blue spheres of a successful hit appeared on the edge of the forest, and quickly turned into shockwaves, crumbling nearby buildings. The blue death instantly disintegrated the shadows, but she knew better than to hope for that to be the end of those shadows. The ground disappeared and cratered where the balls had been and continued to further demolish the city.  
  
"Prepare for ground assault!" she ordered. "Remember keep them at a distance, and don't use the high-powered charges on anything near the building!"  
  
The blast of detonating pulse charges and the strange harmonic growl that followed them was the only noise between Quistis and silence. She had been counting. The drop ship should have been on the roof thirty seconds ago. She wondered what casualties she would receive because of a one-minute delay. She felt and heard the waves of charges collapsing closer and closer to the building. She could tell that the pulse had caught the assault off guard. They would have been inside the building if not for the element of surprise she had maintained. She heard the low whir of a drop ship landing on the roof, and her concentration was broken. Partial relief filled her mind for a split second before she took action.  
  
"Upstairs now!" she yelled. "And someone leave a welcoming present behind for our guests."  
  
She ran up the stairs as the lights blinked out in the building. That was standard assault procedure for the Estharian death commandos. These were quality troops, designed for ruthless elimination. But the loss of light was pointless now, thanks to the new helmets her men were wearing. She ran up the spiraling stairs with her men directly behind her, all of their footsteps clanking loudly on the metal grating staircase.  
  
She stopped, waving the men past her. As the last one appeared around the bend, an Estharian HV round hit him in the chest. Many little red dots instantly appeared on the wall he was facing; these were the harbingers of death, the laser sights of countless assault rifles. He struggled to lift his head and reached out for Quistis, looking at her desperately. Blood cascaded out of his mouth.  
  
"Go, please… I'll take care of them Quistis, just tell my kids I love 'em,"  
  
He reached into his pocket, revealing a high-explosive grenade. He smiled weakly as Quistis looked at him, her mouth open, unable to speak. The sacrifice he was offering was so pure, so selfless.  
  
"Go… you have to get the disk back, I'll hold them off-"  
  
His upper body exploded again in volley of machine gun fire. The high velocity shells had done the trick on him, almost instantly killing him, and leaving a mess behind. Those were the kind of bodies that you had to get a closed casket for, if you could manage to get it back in one piece. She wanted to scream but then she saw the grenade, and saw the pin lying beside his face.  
  
The blast knocked her off her feet and into the wall behind her. Thankfully for her sake, she was not nearly as close to the explosion as that of the Estharians. The Emperor's best troops, fully outfitted, and ready to kill, were about to round the corner. They screamed as the fire burned their bones to black ash. She could hear the loud clanking of the rest of the commandoes being knocked down the flight of stairs by the burning shockwave of flame. She had no time to think and so ran up a few more flights of stairs, catching up with her squad.  
  
They ran faster when they saw her coming and shouted back at her to make sure that she wasn't injured. There was no time to really be worried about her even though she carried the disk. She decided it was a bad idea to stay in last. Once again, compassion for her men and tactical training were battling for supremacy in her head. If she had been caught, their whole mission would have been for nothing. Not to mention she could have gotten everyone caught in the process. She and her squad had always been inseparable from each other, concerned and focused at the same time. That was half of what made them work so well.  
  
They finally reached the top. Bursting through the door, Quistis found herself at gunpoint by some thirty death commandos. They looked at her as the rest of her squad exited the roof top entrance. The blue Aeroflot that was their salvation hovered some 50 feet above them, unable to land because of the enemy presence. Her troops were outnumbered, but ready to fight to the death for her. The leader stepped forward and began to speak.  
  
"We have orders from the Emperor to apprehend you. Do not resist or we will be forced to kill you," stated the first soldier.  
  
She looked at him, and then proceeded to unsheathe her Save the Queen. The vicious whip made of insanely strong fibers uncoiled like a snake at her side, almost visibly writhing in preparation for a strike. In a split second, the man's head was knocked cleanly off his neck, startling the rest of the death squad long enough to distract them.  
  
"Fire!" she yelled, and instantly the death squad was turned into jelly by her troops. She flattened herself, as the noise of the rooftop grew unbearable for what seemed like a long couple of seconds. The vicious firefight left half of her men dead and the death squad totally wiped out.  
  
  
  
She looked out upon the saintly airship, signaling it to land, and watched what was left of her men drag the wounded into the drop ship.  
  
Another miracle for the rebellion, she thought, but at what price?  
  
She boarded the ship, last once again. Its engines roared as the doors folded close. She looked out on the building rooftop, waiting until she saw the first soldier appear. The black shape ran out of the hatch on the roof, aiming at the Aeroflot.  
  
She pulled out her detonator and pressed it. She watched the roof begin to crack from the floor up before it broke in half, swallowing the tiny shadow along with her presumed dead men. The lobby floor instantly leveled as it exploded into a fireball, removing the entire support structure for the building. The building began to keel over like a wrecked ship taking the death commandoes with it. Their "welcoming present" had done the trick.  
  
Quistis was relieved but unable to keep from thinking about the men she had lost. Were their lives worth the struggle? A single tear worked its way down her cheek, alone in its journey to the bottom of her face. She had never cried in front of her squad and so the tear did not go unnoticed. They looked away for the moment but still silently watched her, waiting for her to explain herself. Surely it was some special occasion for "the woman of stone" to be crying.  
  
"How many more lives will you take from me, Squall?" she demanded quietly, ending the uncomfortable silence.  
  
* * * 


	3. Prologue Part 3

Part 3  
  
Squall sat contemplatively on his throne, searching for a train of thought. The red velvet was crumpled slightly as he shifted, resting his chin on his hand. Out of one of the many arches that surrounded him appeared a messenger who approached Squall cautiously. The messenger used his fullest discipline to keep from focusing on the sheathed blade beside Squall, ready to disembowel him if need be. He whispered something to him before bowing low and making the appearance of a calm stride away. Another servant had talked with death and survived.  
  
Squall had never been particularly magnanimous after the incident at the original Balamb. Ever since he had fallen from the railing of the Garden, things had been different. Or perhaps even before that. Truthfully, Squall had never been the same since the encounter with Ultimecia. Nightmares plagued him, as did the images of that vast desert where he had partially lost his mind.  
  
The question was, had he been saved in time? Despite Rinoa's heroic effort to save Squall from his giant prison, the effect of being trapped in solitude had never worn off. There was always something a little wrong with Squall, and then after the incident in Balamb, things became seriously wrong.  
  
Perhaps that was why he had joined the religious sect against Sorceresses. He was only trying to escape the horrible visions of the wasteland which Ultimecia, a sorceress herself, had instilled in him.  
  
He could feel the presence of Diablos pressing beneath his skin, desperate to get out and ravage a few more servants. He had a deep bond with his Guardian Force because of the way the winged beast had saved him from his tremendous fall off of Balamb, but he did not have time today to let the beast run rampant among his servants.  
  
Balamb Garden, once the training ground of the SeeDs had gone through a transformation into something horrible, warped from the once boarding/military school atmosphere into a castle fit for an insane emperor. The whitewashed walls and mellow lighting had been removed, giving the giant fortress the look of one of the castles from the gothic age. The once-playful promenade had been transformed into the dank torture chamber; the dormitories, into the barracks. And within a labyrinth of catacombs and dead-ends lay the main chamber of Squall.  
  
The giant room was a dome naturally lit through its tinted glass ceiling. A row of columns lined the edge of the room in a circle of pillars and arches. Behind them lie darkness and a countless number of servants no doubt. And in the center lay the massive throne of Squall Leonhart. Its back was easily twice the height of a tall person, and the 3 steps up to the chair made it possible for Squall to be the tallest person in the chamber, even when sitting.  
  
I tiny gap in the wall opened and closed from behind the columns.  
  
Squall rubbed his brow, thinking of how to make a good example of a certain commander. So she had escaped, he thought, no problem. Catching her was a matter of time. But she did have something important to him. Problem: whatever that document was, and he had a pretty good idea, it had been obtained and could be used against him. Problem:: the only way to obtain the document was if there was a spy in the midst of his servants. Problem: the Resistance's strength was growing with every advantage they earned. Solution: kill the spy.  
  
His train of thought wandered amongst the names of engineers. No, they were far too low in rank and too spineless to organize for those documents to be copied. His mind searched higher, looking for the weak link: the shady character, or the nervous quiet type, or, most dangerous of all, the ally. His mind stopped on a name, leading him to his conclusion and on to the solution.  
  
/Oh Doctor, Doctor, what shall I do with you? Must I kill you to get what I want?/  
  
No, he thought, I'll save that for another day.  
  
And so the Lionheart would not be used for the third time today. The blue blade of horror, justice, and everything he stood for, had shed enough blood for one day. And so it remained in its sheath, hovering by his side, ready to be drawn. He looked up, planning again, but with a purpose.  
  
He made a simple nod and instantly a servant appeared.  
  
"Summon the Doctor for me," he said with a smile. "Tell him … tell him something important has happened, and that only he can help."  
  
* * *  
  
Irvine wandered along the dusty corridors deep underground. His mind was for once hard at work. He brushed the brown locks out of his child-like face. He was in his uniform, the dark brown coat and hat, with Exeter in tow, and he resembled a modern day cowboy, if only slightly. That hat always stayed on his head, and perhaps was the only thing left that kept him grounded. Where has all the innocence gone, my friends, he asked himself.  
  
/Quistis, Selphie, Rinoa… where are you when I need you?/  
  
He was for the first time in his life trying to contemplate loss. The Tomb of the Unknown King had taken a surprisingly frightening atmosphere after the Resistance's renovations to it. Now an underground military complex, he was in the "under-construction" tier, and it was badly lit and much bigger than the others.  
  
He felt the blame and disgust and guilt. He had cried for one of the only times in his life, when laying her crumpled form to rest at a monument in Winhill dedicated to dead Resistance soldiers. But he had no idea that at this very moment Quistis would be visiting that very site that he both longed for and loathed.  
  
Irvine found himself empty at the thought of his beloved, the once-cheerful girl who had died in his arms.  
  
He remembered the day Selphie died.  
  
* * * 


End file.
